


Pimm's in the Park

by ElleMartin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Tattooed Draco, drunk hermione
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-01 23:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11497050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElleMartin/pseuds/ElleMartin
Summary: “You have been cordially invited to the 344th Annual Broom Showcase and Regatta…” Hermione Granger doesn’t really fancy spending a day with the pureblood elites, but she also doesn’t want to pass up the chance to secure votes for her new house-elf initiative either. Time to dust off her fanciest fascinator, pick up a couple bottles of Pimm’s, and maybe even find out what Draco Malfoy is hiding under those long sleeves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta i_was_BOTWP, and to my favorite Brit picker dramione84.

Hermione Granger hated flying. She had zero interest in brooms. So what exactly had possessed her to check “attending” on the invitation to the 344th Annual Flying Showcase and Regatta?

Daphne Greengrass, her coworker and friend, had described the Regatta as fashion week for the broom industry, whatever that meant. Daphne had also told her that it would be the perfect opportunity to rub elbows with the upper crust of society, and Hermione could not pass up a chance to network with those on the Wizengamot who would be hearing her new proposal for proper living conditions for house-elves, right? Ugh. Daphne knew her too well. Now Hermione would be forcing herself to spend hours in a field of purebloods during one of the hottest summers on record, all for the sake of hobnobbing. She just needed to make a quick stop first.

She knew she must look like quite the sight. It wasn’t everyday that you came across someone in a fascinator in the middle of the supermarket. Hermione hadn’t been able to bear the thought of stuffy wizarding robes in this heat, opting instead for her best British wedding attire; a lovely pink sundress, flat sandals, and a pink tulle monstrosity on her head. She hadn’t planned on stopping, but Daphne had mentioned that she’d bring a picnic basket packed with food, and asked if Hermione could bring something to drink. She eyed the different colored bottles in front of her at the Tesco as she worked to determine which liqueur would best beat the sweltering heat, as well as appease the sophisticated tastes of her companions.

As a witch who had been raised by Muggles, Hermione still felt a bit out of her element in these situations. Firstly, she wasn’t much of a drinker. She knew all about gillywater and firewhiskey, but neither of those sounded right for this event, nor were they available at the Muggle supermarket. Her parents weren't known for drinking more than a glass of sherry in appropriate social settings, and she’d never spent enough time in Muggle atmospheres that involved alcohol to truly know what was popular.

Hermione’s eyes stopped on a familiar looking bottle. Pimm’s No.1. Her mind vaguely recalled her mother mentioning Pimm’s being a perfect mixer with lemonade and fruit for a nice summer cocktail. That should do it. She quickly snagged two bottles off of the shelf, then made her way over to an aisle with bottled lemonade, and added two more bottles to her basket. She could already picture the pureblood aristocrats turning their noses up at her choice of drinks. _That’s what they get for inviting the Muggleborn “princess” to their Regatta_ , she thought. And, honestly, weren’t regattas normally for yachts and boats? Leave it to the purebloods to take a Muggle term and bastardize it for their own use.

After purchasing her drinks, Hermione had to walk a couple of blocks till she found a deserted alleyway in which she could apparate to Daphne’s. Hermione barely had time to say hello and let out a sigh of relief at finding Daphne was similarly attired, before Daphne held out the rusted kettle that would serve as their Portkey. She felt the familiar feeling of a hook yanking her belly button as they were whisked away to an expansive field somewhere outside of Bristol.

“Looks like we made it just in time!” Daphne breathed out, then promptly grabbed Hermione’s arm, pulling her towards the queue for entry.

Daphne tossed the rusty kettle into a collection bin at the gate. Both ladies had to show their invitations, then submit to searches with the probity probes before being waved in. Paths were marked off throughout the field by happy little dancing flags that called out directions such as “Lavatories, this way!” and “Drinks stand, over here!” Daphne immediately turned down the path with the flag that yelled out “Prime seating, follow me!” Hermione followed behind, her bottles clanking noisily in their bags.

“Is the seating first come first serve?” Hermione asked.

“For the most part, yes,” Daphne said. “Luckily we’re meeting up with some of my friends who should have a blanket all set up for us.”

Hermione scowled. While she and Daphne had formed a close friendship over the last few months, they had run in very different, and hostile, circles back in school. “Which friends?” she asked now, though she was sure she wouldn’t like the answer.

Daphne didn’t meet her eyes. “Oh, you know, the usual,” she replied airily.

“Pansy?” Hermione asked.

Pansy Parkinson had been one of the most popular girls in their year at school. She’d also been one of the meanest, as those things often and inexplicably go hand in hand when you’re young. Hermione knew well that Daphne and Pansy were still very good friends, but where Pansy was bitter and cruel, Daphne was sunshine and sweet. Daphne had yet to convince Hermione and Pansy to socialize with each other.

Daphne shook her head. “No, you lucked out. Pansy wasn’t able to make the Regatta this year. Something about shoe sales in Milan.”

“Malfoy?” Hermione inquired, naming another of her schoolyard bullies.

“He’ll probably be here,” Daphne said. “Not sure if he’s sitting with us though. He hasn’t come around much since he and Tori broke things off.”

Hermione nodded in understanding. It had been well-known even in her circles that the engagement between Draco Malfoy and Daphne's younger sister Astoria Greengrass had ended badly. Tori, as Daphne referred to her, had been quick to denounce Malfoy’s name and reputation to anyone who would listen. If Draco showed up today, and if Tori was around, there would most assuredly be a scene worthy of the trashiest soap opera. As much as Hermione loathed Draco Malfoy, she hoped for his sake that he’d be smart enough to stay far away from their area.

“Ah! Here we are!” Daphne said, heading down a short path with flags shouting “The primest of the prime! Come this way, and prime seating shall be thine!”

“This is going to be so great!” Daphne chattered on. “The races will be right over us!”

“Yay,” Hermione said unenthusiastically.

“Oh, hush you,” Daphne laughed. “Just think of the contacts you’ll make today. House-elves all over wizarding Britain will be singing your praises by this time next month!”

“Yay!” Hermione said again with slightly more cheer. “I’m just ready to get off my feet. It was a bad idea to wear brand new sandals.”

“Honestly,” Daphne said as she brandished her wand. “It’s like you forget you’re a witch.” With a quick flick of the wand, the ache in Hermione’s feet eased.

“Cushioning charm?” she chuckled.

“A modified one, yes.” Daphne tucked her wand back into a pocket in her dress, then stopped to scan the crowd.

“Daphne, darling! Over here!” Hermione heard Tori’s voice call out. Off to her left, she saw the dark-haired witch waving them over.

“What is she wearing?” Daphne grumbled. “I told her that I would be wearing blue! She just had to wear it too?”

“At least it’s a darker blue,” Hermione reassured her. “Almost navy, really. And her hat is tan.”

Having had no siblings of her own, Hermione had trouble understanding Daphne’s relationship with Astoria. More often than not, the two sisters acted more like arch-enemies than women who’d grown up together. They always seemed to be in competition, as Daphne’s comments on Astoria’s outfit proved.

Truthfully, Hermione saw no similarities in their attire. Daphne was a vision in a pale blue sleeveless dress with a full, flared skirt and matching fascinator. Astoria’s dress was off the shoulder, fitted, and a very deep navy. On her head, she had donned a tan hat that reminded Hermione of an American cowboy hat, with a fuller brim, and peacock feathers reaching high into the air. Daphne’s blonde locks were pulled back in elegant, 40s-esque curls, while Tori had left her raven hair down in loose waves. If it weren’t for their similar facial features, one may never know the women were related.

They approached the blanket where their party was seated. The blanket covering the ground was a mix of pale yellow swirls on a white background, and Hermione was already feeling dizzy looking at it. She easily recognized several of Daphne’s friends.

Tracey Davis and Millicent Bulstrode were seated on one corner of the spread sipping what looked like champagne out of flutes with twisted glass stems. Their shoes had already been removed and placed next to them, and they flattened their dresses over their crossed legs. Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini, and Theo Nott were clustered off to the side and sheltering themselves under a tree while they passed a pipe between them. Goyle was tugging at his collar, and Theo had loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. It seemed decorum took a backseat in this heat.

“Oh, look!” Tori practically squealed. “Daphne’s brought her little Muggleborn friend! How charmant!”

Tori had conjured a group of squashy little chairs, and sat daintily perched upon the center chair. Hermione recognized Flora and Fauna, the Carrow twins, seated on either side of Tori. Someone had conjured little feathered fans to circle the ladies in an attempt to keep the heat of the sun at bay.

“Tori, shut up,” Daphne replied. “We all know you’re not French, so quit acting like it. Come on, Hermione.”

Daphne ushered her over to a spot near the tree that the men were huddled under. “Honestly, Tori has just been insufferable since she ended things with Draco,” she said in a low whisper. “She’s started using those annoying little French terms, and I swear she’s trying to make her accent even more posh than it already was. I think she knows she screwed up by letting Draco go, and is hoping if she sounds fancier, then she’ll be able to snag a bigger fish next time.”

Hermione chanced a glance over at Tori as Daphne began pulling items out of her picnic basket. “Thanks,” Hermione said, taking the glasses from Daphne. “So, she ended their engagement? Why?”

“Who knows?” Daphne shrugged. “She just said that Draco had changed, and wasn’t who she’d thought anymore.”

“Hmm, I wonder what that means,” Hermione mused. She pulled out her Pimm’s bottles to start filling glasses. “Now, I’ll warn you. I’ve never tried this drink before. Supposedly it’s what they serve at Wimbledon and the like. I’m not even sure how much to serve though.”

Daphne laughed. “I’m sure that two highly accomplished witches such as ourselves can figure it out.”

And with that Hermione began to pour.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you my amazing beta i_was_BOTWP for all of her hard work!

For all of their bluster, it was proving slightly difficult for the two well qualified witches to mix the perfect drink. Their first attempt contained too much lemonade, and they’d bravely added more Pimm’s to the mix. Unfortunately, that had turned into too little lemonade to Pimm’s, but they’d downed their cups, and soldiered on. Their third try had been declared “fit for courtside at Wimbledon” by Daphne, causing Hermione to erupt in very un-Hermione like giggles.

“Have you ever even been to Wimbledon, Daphne?” Hermione asked.

“Well, no,” she admitted. “Have you?”

“Of course not! My family wasn’t near posh or sporty enough.” Hermione laughed. “Posh and Sporty!” And launched into a very sloppy version of an old Spice Girls song, while Daphne gallantly tried clapping along to the beat.

“You’re wonderful, Hermione!” Daphne crowed as the song ended and Hermione gave a small bow. “Tell me. What was it like to grow up around Muggles?”

Hermione snorted. “Wouldn’t know, would I?”

Daphne's eyes widened. “Whatever do you mean by that? You were raised by Muggles!”

“Hardly,” Hermione said. “My early years were spent in and out of hospitals due to a rare illness that we now know was just my ‘accidental magic’. I didn’t have any friends. I spent all my time alone reading.”

“Oh, you poor, poor thing,” Daphne sighed, pouring more Pimm’s into their cups.

“It was very lucky that Professor McGonagall showed up when she did,” Hermione said with a fierce nod. “My mum and dad were ready to ship me off to some foreign hospital till they found out that I was a witch. It was a such a relief to find out I didn’t have some odd illness, or was going to rain pig’s blood down on people at any time.”

Daphne scrunched up her pretty face. “Why would you rain pig’s blood on people?” she whispered. “Is that some sort of Muggle thing?”

“Umm, sort of,” Hermione chuckled. “It’s from a Muggle book about a girl who can control things with her mind, though she never actually rained pig’s blood. Her bullies dumped a bucket of pig’s blood on her, so she burned the school gym down after she used her mind powers to lock everyone inside.” She laughed at Daphne’s frustrated look, then took a long drink.

“Anyways,” she continued. “I left for Hogwarts just before my twelfth birthday, and never really looked back. The Muggle world didn’t hold as much appeal for me as being around other witches and wizards.”

“But you went back on holidays, right?” Daphne asked.

“Rarely. I usually spent my hols with the Weasleys and Harry.”

Daphne grimaced. “Ugh, the Weasleys. I’m so glad you got out of that situation.”

“Um, thanks?” Hermione wasn’t sure if she should be upset by the statement or not. “You do know that I'm still friendly with them, right?”

“Whatever for?” Daphne asked with a shake of her blonde curls. “Nevermind. You’ll come to your senses one of these days.”

“Okaaaay,” Hermione said doubtfully. She wanted ask Daphne if her irritation with the Weasleys was just due to an old pureblood prejudice that the family were blood traitors. Instead, she looked around their little group, and asked, “So, when does this Regatta kick off? Or is this all we do?”

“We could get up and go look at the brooms that will be featured,” Daphne said as she dug in the picnic basket. “That’s awfully boring though.”

Hermione scrunched up her nose. “Pass.”

“Ah-ha!” Daphne must have found what she was looking for. Her hands reappeared from the basket clutching a large bunch of plump green grapes, and popped one in her mouth. “There’s always your networking to be done.”

Hermione reached over to snatch a grape. “That may have to wait. That Pimm's kind of went to my head a little.”

“Then there’s nothing to do but lie back and eat grapes like the queens that we are,” Daphne said with dramatic flair. She tossed a grape up, caught it effortlessly in her mouth, then stretched out onto her right side, propping her head up with her elbow, and draping her skirt artfully around her legs to keep her modesty in check. Even striking such a casual pose, Daphne Greengrass looked like royalty.

Hermione glanced down at her own awkward frame and wished, not for the first time, that she had an ounce of the poise Daphne had seemingly been born with. She tried to lay back, but the fascinator on her head refused to allow it. She was loathe to take it off, as it was keeping her rat’s nest somewhat tamed. She ended up propping herself up on her elbows, sure that she was still failing to pull off cool and graceful like Daphne. Would she look too much like she was copying Daphne if she rolled to her side as well? _Sod it_ , she thought, clenching her thighs together, and clutching her skirt with one hand, she flipped over to her side.

Hermione was quickly growing bored. She finished her glass, and poured another. With the way the sun was bearing down, she prayed they wouldn’t run out of drinks before this thing got started. Daphne began tossing grapes at her, and soon they were trying to outdo each other on how many they could catch in their mouths. The guys drifted over to sit with them, probably due to lack of any other suitable entertainment, and joined in. Hermione had just caught her seventh grape in a row when trumpets began to sound across the expansive field.

“ _Welcome! Welcome, one and all, to the three hundred forty-fourth annual Regatta! Let’s have a round of applause for our racers today_!”

Riders soared over their heads one at a time, while an unseen announcer broadcast the particular specs for each broom.

“ _And here we have the newest broom from the makers of the Firebolt brand, the Lightning model, designed exclusively for our savior, Harry Potter! It can reach speeds upwards of one hundred and ninety kilometers per hour! The Lightning is ridden today by_ -”

The Regatta had officially begun.

Hermione did her best to follow along as each of the riders performed a series of tricks before lining up at a designated point of the sky to wait for the race portion. Theo and Blaise were kind enough to try to explain any questions she had, such as why an exclusive broom designed for only one person would be featured.

“They probably meant that the broom was designed in honor of old Scarhead, not for him,” Theo said, not catching Hermione's grimace at the crude nickname for one of her best friends.

“Yes,” Blaise chimed in. “Every broom you see today is for sale. They’d be stupid to show us something no one else could buy.”

“That makes more sense,” Hermione said. “And they race all of the brooms?”

“No, not all of them,” Blaise said. “Just the racing brooms.”

“They show the family-style brooms over at the showcase booth,” Theo added.

“ _And they’re off_!” the announcer called.

Hermione, Daphne, and the rest of their crew clapped and cheered as the racers streaked off out of sight.

“So, wait, that’s it?” Hermione asked.

“No, they make several laps,” Goyle said. “We’ll see them again.”

“We just clap whenever they come by,” Daphne said. “Otherwise, we’re left to our own devices.”

“Are we cheering for any riders in particular?” Hermione asked.

“Not really,” Daphne yawned, fanning herself with her hand. “I never pay enough attention to who’s racing to know names.” She pulled out her wand, and with a flick, one of Astoria’s conjured fans began circling her head.

“Hey!” Astoria yelled.

“Learn to share!” Daphne retorted.

“Viktor Krum is racing this year,” Goyle said. “That’s who I'm rooting for.”

“Is he really?” Daphne asked. “Didn’t you used to date him Hermione?”

Hermione blushed. “Years and years ago. Not even worth mentioning.” She took a cube of ice from her glass, and began running it around her neck to help cool down.

“Oh, come now, Granger,” a new voice piped up. “I’m sure you’re just dying to tell us all of the sordid details of your love affair with Krum.”

Draco Malfoy had joined the party.

Hermione’s fingers faltered, and the ice cube she’d been holding fell straight down in her dress. “ _Shite_!” she screamed, jumping up to shake the ice out. Stupid Ferret Face started laughing at her bouncing around, while Theo, Blaise, and Goyle stood to greet him with hearty handshakes and pats on the back.

“No! No! Absolutely not!” Astoria yelled, marching over to confront Draco. “This is _my_ blanket, and _my_ party. I will not have _you_ coming to ruin it!”

“Tori, really, get ahold of yourself,” Daphne said. “Look around you. Besides you and the plant twins, we’re all Draco’s friends.”

Astoria rounded on Daphne. “You are my sister! Where’s the solidarity? He broke my heart!”

“You broke up with him,” Daphne reminded her. “Not the other way around. Between the two of you, I vote for Draco.”

“Cheers, Daphne,” Draco smirked.

Hermione almost felt bad for Astoria as she saw the hurt flash across her face. It was gone quickly, and Astoria muttered, “Gods, you’re such a bitch.” Stomping over to the Carrow twins, she said, “Come on. Let’s find somewhere that we’re wanted.” With a flick of her wand, the chairs and silly fans evaporated, including the one Daphne had pilfered, and all three girls stalked off.

“Be thankful you’re an only child,” Daphne said to Hermione, then turned to Draco. “Don’t make me regret this, Draco.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my alpha reader and cheerleader jencala28, my Brit-picker dramione84, and the best beta ever i_was_BOTWP. You are all awesome and wonderful.

“Okay, we’re going to try this one more time,” Hermione called out. “I want to hear everyone singing now. Seriously. It’s not a hard song. Ready?” She raised her wand like an expert conductor poised to lead her choir. Just as Dumbledore had done at every Hogwarts welcoming feast, Hermione flicked her wand, and a silvery ribbon burst forth, writhing and curling like a snake to form the words to the song. “And a one, and a two. _Jeremiah was a bullfrog, he was a good friend of mine_ ….”

Sadly, her choir was not very cooperative. Tracey Davis was quietly singing along, while Millicent stared at her as if she’d sprouted another head. Goyle tried to follow along, but always seemed two or three beats behind. Theo and Blaise just watched with expressions bordering on both boredom and fascination on their faces. Daphne, sweet Daphne, had dissolved into giggles that were so constant, Hermione feared they may be permanent.

“...highly inappropriate.” Hermione caught someone saying from somewhere behind her.

“What do you expect?” Another voice chimed in. “Muggle-born trash.”

“The fuck?” Hermione turned to face the voices, and saw two older well-dressed witches sporting scandalized faces passing by their little blanket. “Oh, bugger off, you old biddies! Wouldn’t know a good tune if it bit you in the arse!”

“Oh, sweet Circe!” Daphne screamed with laughter. “Hermione, you’ll be the death of me! Gods, I wish we’d become friends years ago! If only I'd known how utterly delightful you Muggle-borns were…”

“Daphne, darling, as much as I adore you,” Hermione said as she sat back down, “if you don’t shut up about my blood status, I may have to reconsider our budding friendship.”

“I hope you realize who you just insulted,” Draco’s snide voice called out.

“Who? Daphne?” Hermione asked. “I didn’t insult her… did I? I honestly can’t think straight right now.”

“That’s obvious,” he sneered. “No, the ‘old biddies’, as you called them. The rest of us call them the Selwyn sisters.”

“Shite.” Hermione paled. “ _The_ Selwyn sisters?” She looked over to Daphne for confirmation, but she was focused on Goyle for some reason that Hermione would have to think about later. “I don’t suppose there are lots of Selwyn sisters who don't hold the fate of my house elf proposal in their hands, are there?”

Draco shook his head with a smug little grin. “I hope you haven’t staked your career on that dumb thing, but knowing you, and your keen sense of Gryffindor do-gooder pride, you have.”

“This makes no sense.” Hermione sank down, holding her head in her hands, as though she could clear her muddled thoughts if she held on tight enough. “The Selwyn sisters would not have called me Muggle-born trash. I mean, yes, they’re your typical old pureblood Slytherins, but I’ve done the research. They’re not racists. It had to have been someone else.”

“Oi!” Goyle protested.

“Cheers,” Blaise said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Told you it wouldn’t last,” Millicent said quietly to Tracey, who in turn slipped her a galleon.

Hermione looked around, confused by the eye rolls and grumblings of her blanketmates. “What? What did I say?”

“Hermione-” Daphne began, but was effectively cut off by Draco.

“You know, I've long suspected that you just speak to hear the sound of your own voice,” he said in his cool, haughty manner. “But even I didn’t realize how absolute rubbish all that ‘brightest witch of our age’ shite really was. You really do love to just spew anything out that oversized mouth of yours, don’t you?” Hermione's hands flew to her mouth with a gasp. “Not one person called you ‘Muggle-born trash’. That rat’s nest on your head must block your ears so much, you can’t distinguish between the words ‘trash’ and ‘smashed’, as in you are so obviously smashed off your arse.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, yet he powered on.

“Maybe it’s because you’re still looking for Death Eaters and racists where they don’t exist?” Draco sneered. “Newsflash, Granger, the war is over, and not everyone hates you.”

“Well, if I’m always looking over my shoulder expecting someone else to throw hateful rhetoric my way, you can thank yourself for that,” she spat at him. “Thank you, Malfoy, for teaching me just how cruel the pureblooded elites could be.”

“When I was _twelve_.” Draco stood, and began advancing on her, his silver eyes blazing. “I called you nasty names when I was twelve-”

“And thirteen, and fourteen,” Hermione interjected while she too rose to her feet. The other Slytherins on the blanket shifted uncomfortably. Theo’s wand had quickly appeared in his hand as he shrewdly watched the showdown before him.

“And what about when we were eleven, huh?” Malfoy hissed. “Question, Granger, let’s put that annoying brain of yours to the test. When did you start to hate me?”

That drew her up short. “I… what?”

“What was it? What did I do or say to you that first made you hate me?” He towered over her, breathing hard. Hermione shrank back from the closeness and the heat she felt radiating off of him.

“Oh please, you were such a smarmy little git,” she said. “Always calling me ‘mudblood’ and such.”

“Ah ah ah,” Malfoy gave her a harsh smile as he waggled his finger at her. “You started hating me first year, long before I had ever said that word to your face.” She narrowed her eyes at the distinction, and Malfoy leaned close again, speaking in a low voice for her ears only. “Do you remember how we first met?”

“Of course I remember, I’m not an idiot, Malfoy,” Hermione said with a scathing glare. “Really, though, what is the point of all this? Aren’t we all just out here trying to have a good time with our friends?”

“ _Our_ friends? _Our_ _friends_?” Malfoy scoffed incredulously. “Look around you, Granger! I don’t see Pothead and the Weasel anywhere, do you? These are not _your_ friends. These are _my_ friends. _You’re_ the odd one out here, and _you’re_ the one ruining everyone’s good time with your drunken ravings and pureblood prejudice.”

“I beg your pardon!” she yelled, thrusting her finger at him. “I have no prejudices! And I’ll have you know that we were all having a perfectly lovely day till _you_ showed up.”

“Guys, please,” Daphne croaked out hesitantly. “This has gotten way out of hand.” The others nodded and grumbled their agreements, but Draco and Hermione were too far gone to be deterred.

“Oh, sure,” Draco reared back, throwing up his hands in frustration. “Blame Draco, as always, for ruining everything, while you’re the one so far in your cups you can barely stand up straight, singing stupid frog songs, and causing a scene. Then you start accusing innocent witches of racist remarks just because they’re- how’d you put it- ‘ _your_ _typical_ _old_ _pureblood_ _Slytherins_ ’. Tsk! Yet you deny you’re prejudiced.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Hermione protested. “I mean, well, it sounds bad when you put it that way, I will admit, but that is not how I meant it!”

“How else could you have meant such a damning statement, Granger?” he asked with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “What? Too scared to admit that you may harbor a few prejudices of your own?”

“I- what- _ARGH_!” she screamed, and flopped back down to the blanket.

“Okay, everyone, take a breather,” Daphne said.

“Yes, fighters, retreat to your corners,” Theo joked. “We can resume round two once everyone has had a little break.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said to Daphne as she accepted another icy glass of Pimm’s and lemonade with a shaky hand, and quickly began gulping it down to soothe her nerves. Once emptied, Daphne plucked the glass away from her to pour another round.

“Yes, continue getting her liquored up, that’s a fine idea,” Draco huffed as he paced away from her. “Merlin forbid Granger lose her buzz.”

“That’s it!” Hermione roared. She snatched the half-filled glass from Daphne’s hand, and Draco whirled back around to face her just in time to catch a face full of icy liquid. The gauntlet, or goblet in this case, had been thrown.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the biggest thanks goes to my wonderful beta i_was_BOTWP. I am a better writer because of you.

Hermione Granger had always been an awkward child. She was not shy by any means, and was definitely not known for holding her tongue. She never had friends because she always seemed to say the wrong things at the wrong time. Plus, her “affliction” didn’t help. She was schooled by private tutors, as she’d never been able to stay in a regular school due to her frequent doctor visits and hospital stays.

Hope for Hermione came in the form of a severe-looking woman with shrewd eyes and a pointy hat who showed up at her doorstep three days after her eleventh birthday. Hermione Granger was a witch. Her affliction was due to accidental magic manifesting and breaking loose. Hermione had never been so relieved in her life.

Her parents had scoffed, as properly educated adults often do, but Hermione had listened to Professor McGonagall’s explanations carefully and with open ears, nodding seriously in all the right places. It all fit. She was a witch, and determined to be the best witch anyone had ever heard of.

Her first trip to Diagon Alley had not come soon enough for Hermione. She had practically sprinted through the archway, dragging her parents and Professor McGonagall behind her. She’d rushed through the essentials. Who cared about robes and fancy quill tips? Not Hermione. She picked out all of the basics, then finally came time for the books.

Flourish and Blotts was the most beautiful place she’d ever encountered. Books of all shapes, sizes, and colors peeked out at her from the shelves just begging to be picked up and explored. Here, finally, she took her time. Hermione explored every floor and aisle, lovingly stroking spines, and turning pages with reverence. Her parents knew she would be eager to learn all that she could, as always, and had told Hermione to get anything she wanted, though within reason of course. It was there on her very first entrance to her new world, and in the most magical place of all (at least in her mind), that she’d first met Draco Malfoy.

Her stack of books was already almost as tall as herself, but she was dawdling over three more sizable tomes, and wondering which one she should add to her pile, when suddenly there was a God-awful screech from the next aisle. Hermione turned to see what could possibly make that horrible racket, and in a bookstore of all places, when an orange blur streaked past her, toppling her and her books to the floor.

“Ugh!” she’d cried. Brushing her mass of frizz from her face, she’d slowly picked herself up off of the floor, praying that none of her hopefully new friends had seen her fall.

“Some people just don’t know how to behave in public,” a boy’s voice had said. “Honestly, no class at all. Here. Let me help you.”

“Thank you,” she’d answered back politely, trying to show that she at least could act properly. “I’m Hermione Granger, by the way. I’ll be starting at Hogwarts this year. And you?”

Hermione had looked up to meet a silvery gaze, much too intense for an eleven year old boy. He had slicked back blonde hair, and a very pointy chin. He was also dressed in those funny robes that the wizards seemed to favor for some reason,and somehow she could tell his robes were of good quality. She hoped he wouldn’t think her jeans looked dowdy.

The boy gave her a quick once over as he reached out a hand. “Draco Malfoy. You’ve probably heard of my family. That is, well, your parents may have dealings with them. Your parents _are_ magical, are they not?”

She saw something pass across his face, something that Professor McGonagall had not prepared her for, though Hermione instinctively knew that her answer was somehow important. “My parents? Well-”

“Draco, dear, it’s time to go.” A beautiful blonde woman that could only be Draco’s mother approached, her arms delicately clutching a few books. “Come on, darling. Your father has finished at the counter.”

Draco rolled his eyes towards Hermione in a mutual sign of annoyed preteens everywhere when their parents interrupted. “Hermione, it was nice to meet you. I look forward to seeing you on the train.”

“Likewise, Draco,” Hermione replied with a bright smile. She’d done it. She’d made her first new friend in the magical world, and he was cute to boot. Things were definitely looking up for Hermione Granger.

Fast forward ten years. Draco Malfoy, whom she had thought once upon a time would be her first real friend, was now snarling at her with the remnants of ice cold lemonade and Pimm’s dripping from his face. Gone were the cute smiles, and polite handshakes of yesteryear.

“You stupid, _filthy_ little-”

“Go ahead, Malfoy, say it!” Hermione spat. “That name doesn’t hurt me anymore!”

His wand was clasped tightly in his hand, and pointed straight at her. She too had her wand trained on him, pleased to see a slight shiver from him as he eyed her steady grip.

“Scared, Malfoy?” Hermione smirked.

“Of you? Hardly.” He sneered. “No, Granger, it’s that wand that freaks me out. Why do you even still have that thing?”

Well, that was a hit to her ego. “Well, Malfoy, you may recall that my wand was taken from me the same day that I was nearly tortured to death in your family’s home.”

“Tortured with that wand you’re holding now,” Malfoy said plainly. “Again I ask, why on earth do you still use it?”

Hermione gave a small shrug, never once losing focus. “I never got mine back. Besides, once Bellatrix died, the wand accepted me. It’s worked fine for me ever since.”

Draco had flinched at Hermione's casual mention of his psychotic aunt’s death, but had otherwise maintained his composure. The duelists stood there calmly eyeing each other, wands extended, yet almost unsure how to proceed. The situation became exceedingly more awkward with each passing second.

“If you don’t plan on dueling to the Death, could you please sit down?” Blaise finally asked in his usual dry tone. “You’re blocking my view.”

Hermione’s wand lowered an inch. “Duel to the death? I don’t actually want to kill you, Malfoy.”

“Even with as annoying as you are, no, I don’t feel the need to kill you,” he said, lowering his own wand several inches.

“So what do you propose we do?” Hermione asked, relaxing her own fighting stance.

“I just want you gone. Not dead, just gone.” Malfoy reached up to mop the sweat from his brow as his wand hand dropped to his side. “I want to enjoy what’s left of this day with my friends without you sniping at me every time I speak.”

Hermione tried not to let his words sting as she finally saw the uncomfortable faces surrounding her. Once again, she’d been a victim of her mouth spouting off all of the wrong things. She suddenly missed her own friends with a vengeance. She hoped the hurt didn’t creep into her voice when she asked, “May I take Daphne with me? I am here on her invitation after all.”

Malfoy shrugged. “That’s up to Daphne, not me.”

“Daphne?” Hermione looked to her friend with pleading eyes.

“I’d be pleased to walk around with you for a bit,” Daphne said, already climbing to her feet.

The two witches gathered their drinks and handbags, opting to leave the picnic basket behind until they returned, considering Malfoy had cooled down of course. They walked away in silence, sipping on their lemonade as they strolled to the vendor booths.

“We may still be able to make a few contacts,” Daphne said with fake cheer.

Hermione sighed. “I don’t even care anymore.”

“Oh come on! Yes, that was… bad, but we can’t let it ruin the whole day! Think of the house-elves that are depending on you!”

“Daphne, am I a bad person?” Hermione asked, stopping the blonde with a gentle hand to her arm. “I mean, what just happened… that was so unlike me. And Malfoy said some things that really hurt.”

“We haven’t really known each other long enough for me to make sweeping judgements like whether or not you’re a bad person,” Daphne said. “I think that based on what I know so far, you’re a good person who just gets caught up in the moment. And as for what Draco said, well, you said some pretty hurtful things yourself.”

Hermione groaned. “I know, I know! That’s what has me so worried! Am I just as prejudiced as I’ve always believed the purebloods and Slytherins to be?”

“Hermione, no one has a claim on prejudice,” Daphne said. “But those kinds of statements are not okay.”

“What? What kinds of statements?”

“Well, saying that you believe all purebloods and Slytherins are prejudiced,” Daphne answered. “I mean, do you I think I'm prejudiced? Do you think I hate every Muggle-born with a fiery passion, and want to see them banished from the earth?”

“No, of course not, but-”

“But I'm a Slytherin!” Daphne continued. “And a pureblood to boot! So, if you don’t believe me to be prejudiced, why make such generalizations?”

“Because-”

“Is that what they taught you in the Gryffindor common room?” Daphne pressed on. “That all purebloods and Slytherins are these awful racists?”

“No-”

“And what about your friends the Weasleys?” she asked. “They’re pureblood. Did they ever treat you as less than themselves?”

Hermione shook her head.

“So where did this attitude come from?”

“Malfoy,” Hermione hissed.

“What?” Daphne looked around thinking the blonde man was approaching, based on the venom in Hermione's voice.

“He taught me that I wasn’t welcome in your world,” Hermione said.

“It’s your world too,” Daphne soothed. “It has been for years, you made sure of that years ago. You need to realize that.”

The two witches began walking again, and Hermione pondered over Daphne’s words. When she’d first learned that she was a witch, she’d promised herself that she’d be the best witch the magical world had ever seen. She’d done that, hadn’t she? Hadn’t she earned her rightful place, paid her dues? Daphne seemed to think so, and Hermione found herself agreeing. She’d shed her blood on the battlefield alongside many purebloods. She’d cast many spells, worked harder than anyone, just to prove herself… to whom? Herself? Or to the little pointy-faced blonde boy who’d asked about her parentage with a slight sneer within the first five minutes of meeting her?

“I know what I have to do,” Hermione said, determined. “I have to talk to Malfoy.”

“Oh, honey, are you sure that’s wise right now?”

Hermione gave her a fierce nod. “Yes, it’s time he acknowledges that I'm a part of this world, whether he likes it or not.”

“Okay, fine, but on one condition,” Daphne said, reaching into her handbag. “Take this first.”

“Calming draught? Do you always keep calming draught in your purse?”

“Well, yes. One never knows when they’ll need one, and I like to be prepared.” Daphne shoved the bottle into Hermione's hand. “I just don’t want you getting all caught up in another fight. Please.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, and uncorked the bottle. “Bottoms up.”

 


End file.
